


Vows

by seiyuna



Series: A wedding and a funeral [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Yorknew Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 16:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiyuna/pseuds/seiyuna
Summary: Kurapika wakes up with a golden band on his ring finger and his enemy in his bed.Surprisingly, this is the least of his problems.





	1. Chapter 1

It feels like he’s been to Hell and back.  
  
Kurapika comes to with the taste of alcohol in his mouth, a sense of dread coursing through his very being, and the knowledge that before he even opens his eyes, something very wrong has occurred.  
  
He tries to open his eyes and shuts them as soon as he does, unprepared by the harm it does him. The sunlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft light, but the sight seems to burn through his eyelids. Despite that he's remaining as still as he possibly can, the room seems to spin around him endlessly. He slides his palms over his face and presses them against his temples, attempting to steady the wavering images in his mind. There's a soreness in places that he would never expect, as he attempts to swallow and it hurts going down.  
  
His throat is dry, so dry.  
  
Kurapika reaches blindly to retrieve the water bottle that should be on his desk, but stiffens when his hand comes into contact with something else. There’s an unfamiliar weight in his bed, concealed beneath the comforter, and from the sound of their faint breathing, he can tell that they’re sound asleep. Not once has Kurapika ever shared a bed with someone else, but the undeniable ache in his joints and the bitterness in his throat assure him that he’s anything but dreaming.  
  
He starts upright, forcing himself into a sitting position. His stomach roils as he moves, so he settles back against the headboard, waiting for the urge to heave to subside. He manages to pull himself together, enough to open his eyes again, not knowing what to expect.

There’s a moment of disconnect between what Kurapika sees and what he feels, because he sees the fall of black hair across the face of a man in slumber, and a familiar cross tattoo that sends his heart hammering in his chest.

This cannot be happening.  
  
Kurapika fights the urge to yell as he kicks out, _hard_.  
  
Kuroro goes flying backward with a sharp gasp, falling off the edge of the bed and dragging the sheets down with him.  
  
“What the fuck are you doing here—”  
  
He looks up at Kurapika from where he’s tangled in the sheets, confusion evident in his eyes, like he has any right to be confused. “Good morning to you too.”  
  
“This is my hotel room,” Kurapika points out. The room is large, much larger than the one that the Nostrade Family hosts him in, and yet it feels smaller with the knowledge that Kuroro is so close to him. It would have been problematic if he managed to end up in a bed that was not his own, but he finds that this is equally, if not even worse.  
  
Kuroro looks around, slowly taking in their surroundings. The room is more upscale than what Kurapika would usually choose for himself, with tall windows giving way to a scenic view, an expansive bed with sheets so soft that didn’t leave his back aching, and a multitude of room amenities that he didn’t have any use for. In a city with as vibrant of a nightlife as this one, humble accommodations are difficult to come by.  
  
“Looks like it.”  
  
Silence falls between them for a long moment, both at a loss for words. It is during this moment of mutual assessment that Kurapika realizes with some abstract form of horror that he’s nearly nude. He’s bare with the exception of his undergarments, and while this is not the most shocking revelation, he throws the comforter above himself in an attempt to preserve the remainder of his dignity.  
  
If his state of undress and Kuroro’s presence are anything to go by, they are both here for a specific reason.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Kurapika repeats, obscenities lingering at the edge of his tongue. It comes out steadier than he expects, less like he’s falling apart on the inside, now that a clear reminder of the past is present in front of him.  
  
“Why do you think I’m here?” Kuroro returns his question with a thoughtful tilt of the head, innocent enough that it’s absolutely meant as something improper. He looks far too comfortable on the floor despite unceremoniously tumbling down there.

Kurapika buries his face in his palms with a sigh, trying to push away the heaviness of his thoughts, trying to conceal the way his chest constricts, the way his breathing comes out a little faster. He tries to keep himself calm, to will it all away.

“I can’t remember,” Kurapika says to himself. “God, I can’t remember what happened last night.”  
  
He tries to sort out of the events in his mind, only vaguely recalling scenes that may as well been feverish dreams. He had spent the majority of the previous year dragging himself back and forth chasing after the Scarlet Eyes, and he was tired. The grief caught up to him without any outlet, still gripped him in the long mornings waking up alone, and he was so _tired_.  
  
Some days were easier than others, but most weren’t, and he had come to accept that after so long. A call from Leorio eventually came, an invitation to celebrate his acceptance to medical school, and Kurapika had reluctantly agreed.  
  
That’s why his friends were important. They were his grounding to keep him attached to the world—otherwise, his past left him distant and disassociated from the rest of them. Hatred was easier than hope, and vengeance much easier than faith, and where Kurapika had always defaulted to the former, his friends had the strength to choose the latter, and that was the ultimate difference between them.  
  
But their reunion didn't come close to expectations—there was the potent scent of alcohol and smoke rather than coffee, the beat of the music drowning their words and pulsating through their bodies. One drink became two, two became three, and that’s where things began to get muddled.  
  
He remembers Leorio encouraging him to drink more, handing him shot after shot until his speech began to slur—remembers Leorio putting his arm around his shoulder when strangers were hitting on him, his weight solid and warm against him.  
  
There isn’t much that Kurapika remembers but there’s one thing that he must confirm. “Did I sleep with you?”  
  
“You don’t remember?” While it seems that Kuroro doesn’t remember everything from last night, he remembers some important things. “Not even after I offered to buy you a drink?”  
  
“And I agreed?” Kurapika’s tone is laced with incredulity. Kuroro looks better than how Kurapika feels, and he is envious of that, the way that alcohol seems to have no lingering effect on Kuroro. He chokes out a laugh, despite himself. “I was so intoxicated that I’d lay with you of all people?”  
  
There isn’t any pain or soreness in his lower half, but the fact that they had fallen in bed together tells a fairly suggestive story of what happened the previous night.  
  
“Who knows,” Kuroro finally says. An odd expression flickers across his face and a heavy weight hangs in the air, the way that unanswered questions do. “I’m still clothed, though I’m not certain where your clothes are.”  
  
Kuroro rises from where he’s sitting, and the faint shuffle of cloth against skin is the only sound in the room. He is indeed fully dressed which implies that perhaps they hadn’t fucked, but the buttons on his dress shirt are unfastened and there are marks on his neck and down to his chest, which suggests that they had  _tried_.

A folded piece of paper falls then, descending from the desk next to the bed, and Kuroro catches it before Kurapika has the chance to. They both look at each other for a moment, and Kuroro takes the initiative to uncover what this could possibly be.

As he slowly unfolds it, Kurapika makes out the words _marriage_ and _certificate_ above their signatures.

It takes a moment for it to sink in.  
  
A hand touches his, gentle but firm, and Kurapika looks up to find Kuroro watching him with dark and steady eyes. He notices it then—the glint of gold adorning his ring finger, matching the band around Kuroro’s own. It’s a light weight, so thin and delicate that he hadn’t noticed it all, far too small to be the manifestation of chains.  
  
The way that Kuroro’s hand curves over Kurapika's own is nearly intimate—soft, protective, everything that Kuroro is not. Kurapika retracts his hand as soon as he can and his sharp, indrawn breath may as well be the sound of something inside of him breaking irreparably.  
  
“We’re married.”

Even though traditions of marriage are largely different for his clan, Kurapika knows this much.  
  
“So it seems,” Kuroro agrees, infuriatingly calm. He scrutinizes the ring, turning his hand to catch the sunlight at various angles.  
  
Kurapika closes his hand over the glint of his own ring. “How? This can't possibly be real.”  
  
Kuroro is exceptionally calm, like this is a minor inconvenience more than anything, and it only makes Kurapika angrier. He stands there in front of Kurapika, who had exacted justice by taking everything away from him—his Nen, his companions—and yet he stands there with utmost composure, the look in his eyes giving away nothing.

A cold feeling seeps into Kurapika’s blood, and this is far more familiar, the vengeful rage, the blind hatred. But he must suppress it, this urge towards violence. He's wiser now, not as impulsive he was a year prior, and it takes everything to keep his emotions in check. Acting reckless is not an option this time around. He evenly meets Kuroro’s gaze, willing his own to appear just as unreadable, despite that he’s terrified of the answer.  
  
“I’m at as much of a loss just as you are.”

That—that isn’t helpful at all.  
  
“Where could have we gotten married?” Kurapika wants to believe that this is a cruel joke, that he would bind himself to Kuroro inexplicably. It makes his chest tighten painfully and his stomach twist again. "Who could have married us?"  
  
Kuroro follows his gaze, giving the document another read. Despite the folds and wrinkles, the paper is as legitimate as it could be. Kurapika keeps his breathing steady as Kuroro is silent in thought, and his heart sinks when Kuroro shrugs in nonchalance, still without answers. "I don't know."

Kurapika attempts to turn the ring on his finger, pulls at it, anything to loosen it from his skin. It doesn’t budge, shining in all of its permanence, as if it rightfully belongs there.  
  
He needs it _gone_.

"You didn't put this on me, did you?"  
  
Kuroro has the gall to be amused and shakes his head with a laugh. "If I were to propose, I would have never chosen such a gaudy pair."

Kurapika doesn't find it funny at all. Analyzing the situation is exhausting given his lack of energy and simply sitting around without doing anything isn't going to solve things—isn't going to make things right. 

"What now?" Kuroro asks.

There's only one thing they can do.  
  
“I want a divorce,” Kurapika decides. They're going to sign those papers and forget that this ever happened, that they crossed paths again and made a mistake, and return to being sworn enemies that had nothing to do with each other anymore. 

“Hmm." Kuroro's eyebrows lift in slight surprise, or something close to it considering his lack of emotional capacity. “We’ll see about that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tough luck Leorio, your bff's a married man now.
> 
> I actually wrote this for some friends on LINE and promised to upload this a few months back. The last time I wrote fic in present tense was about four years ago. I wanted to try this style since it's looser and more informal, making it easier and faster for me to write. I also missed writing canon kurokura post-Yorknew so I wanted to try again.
> 
> Accidental marriage and fake dating AUs are probably my most favorite things next to soulmate AUs, so of course I wanted to combine them!
> 
> If you've read this far, then please leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think!
> 
> Thanks again for reading. You can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kimberlyenne) or [Tumblr](http://seiyuna.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

_“Congratulations,” Kurapika says softly. “I knew you could do it.”_

_At the end of the line, Leorio lets out an embarrassed laugh. He can imagine Leorio trying to hide his grin, but it’s no use as he ends up boasting about it anyway, excitement bursting at the seams. “Thank you. I wanted you to be the first to know, so I’m happy that you picked up the phone this time.”_

_His friends are pushing forward, moving on with their goals, but Kurapika’s still stuck in the past. That doesn’t mean that he can’t be happy for him, though. It warms his heart to know that he’s the first person that Leorio thinks of first. He knows how much effort Leorio has placed into working towards medical school, and he deserves that acceptance more than anyone else._

_“Do you have time to meet?” It almost sounds like hope. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice.”_

_More than anything, Leorio’s voice is what he needed to hear, loud and hearty. His phone volume is at its lowest, but it’s possible to hear his voice even from a reasonable distance. Their conversation reverberates throughout the smooth surfaces of the room, and suddenly he’s aware of how quiet it is in here, how painfully empty his surroundings are._

_“I’ve been fairly busy of late,” Kurapika answers, and his fingers flex against the phone. He kneels in front of a line of canisters, the glass encasing the remains of his brethren. The eyes are suspended in formaldehyde, strikingly bright against the dimly lit room, yet devoid of any trace of life. There's far too much to be done, too much ahead of him, and he doesn’t know when it will come to an end. “Where are you headed?”_

_“Glam Gasland—just a few hours north of Yorknew.”_

_“You’re not going to gamble all your savings away, are you?”_

_“What? No!” The line crackles at his raised tone. “I’m going to celebrate like you see in the movies. You should come along.”_

_Kurapika closes his eyes, and thinks of what it’s like to relax without restriction. It isn’t exactly a luxury he can afford, but something tight and aching in his shoulders eases there and then._

_“Alright,” he concedes._

_What he doesn’t say is that he has plans to travel there anyway, that he’s tracked down a pair of the Scarlet Eyes and is intent on paying the owner an unwelcome visit._

 

* * *

 

Kurapika is considering what to do in the meantime, when their conversation is interrupted by the vibration of his phone on the desk. He reaches for it, already expecting who the call may be from. He swipes the screen to accept the call and brings the phone close to his ear.

A breath is all he needs before he speaks. “Leorio?”

“Finally, you’ve picked up.” There’s urgency in his tone, and Kurapika can guess that there are a multitude of missed calls and text messages waiting for him. He thinks that Leorio might cry from simply hearing the sound of his voice. “Where were you last night? Did you get back safely?”

His concern would be unwarranted in any other situation, but Kurapika needs more details. “What do you mean?”

“I took my eyes off of you and the next thing I knew, you were gone!”

Kurapika doesn’t know what to make of this. “Really now.”

“Do you know how worried I was? I thought that maybe you left early, but since you didn't let me know, I thought that you ran into trouble or something along those lines."

The thought makes him shake his head, but what Leorio is saying isn’t too far from the truth. His gaze flicks to where Kuroro is standing, occupied with the thin sheet of paper that has bound them together. It is unthinkable that in the short time that he left Leorio's side, he managed to wed and bring Kuroro back to his hotel room.

“I’m back at the hotel now,” Kurapika reassures him. There are so many questions that only Leorio can answer, but he tries to keep it concise. “Can you elaborate? I’m having trouble recalling a few things from last night.”

That comes as no surprise to Leorio, considering how much influence he had in Kurapika’s behavior last night. “It’ll be easier to explain when I see you. Should I come by now?”

“No.” A lump makes itself known in Kurapika’s throat, and he forces it down. “I mean, let’s meet later tonight. I’m not feeling too well at the moment.”

“Take it easy, alright? Let me know if you need anything. I can bring you painkillers or something.”

“I’ll live.” He needs time to figure out what to do with his current problem, so to speak, and he's not ready to tell Leorio just yet. “I just need to rest for a few hours, so I’ll see you later.”

As Kurapika ends the conversation, he lets out a sigh, tipping his head back to let it fall against the headboard. He desperately needs to compose himself. His clothing from the previous night is nowhere to be found, so he hurriedly throws the comforter off and pushes past Kuroro to open the closet. The door slams shut behind him and he’s grateful that he has a walk-in closet, so he can put a boundary between them as he gets dressed.

It would be simple enough to lock himself in here and avoid all of his problems, but he finds a clean dress shirt and dark wash jeans and wonders what the hell he’s doing. The entire situation is unreasonable and absurd, but he finishes getting dressed anyway.

“Are you going to tell me what you _do_ know?” Kurapika asks as he meets Kuroro back in the bedroom. He’s becoming increasingly tired of unanswered questions. “While I could care less about how you spend your time, I can’t fathom why you would approach me in the first place.”

He couldn’t think of any scenario that could result in anything like attraction, even if had been some kind of inebriated attraction. But if he had to choose, he thinks that he would rather have a proper one-night affair instead ending up with a joke of a ring on his finger without any memories of what actually happened.

“You looked rather lonely last night, when your doctor friend was busy chatting up other women.” Kuroro’s next words are framed by an insincere smile. “Perhaps—you wanted to bed him instead?”

Red floods his vision.

By the time he remembers the reasons for his anger, the reasons why he shouldn’t feel it, he’s seized Kuroro by the shirt collar, pulling him so close that they’re facing one another.

“You are free to say what you like about me, but leave Leorio out of it,” Kurapika warns, low and dangerous. He knows fully well that he shouldn’t react and that it is nearly childish to do so, but his hatred towards Kuroro scorches him, an ember of hostility that courses through his veins.

Kuroro doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move away. He only stares into Kurapika’s eyes in silence, and at that moment, Kurapika hates his eyes just as much as he loves them. It’s only been a year since they’ve last crossed paths, and yet he still isn’t ready for whatever would come after this stilted moment of meeting again.

There is a slight tremor in his hands from the effort of holding back, because he will _never_ give Kuroro the satisfaction of knowing that he has the upper hand again. He intends to tighten his grip, but becomes conscious of his hands, of how much lighter his right hand feels without the weight of his chains. His strength dies half-way through the action.

Kurapika releases his hold and steps back, stunned. He closes his fists, his nails digging into his palms as his mind races to capture a fleeting thought. He believes that he’s lost it, because there is something, something terribly important that he’s missing.

Something obvious.

For all the strength he has, he feels powerless—quieter, smaller.

As Kuroro takes note of this, his lips curve into a smile that holds no humor. "Looks like we're in the same boat now.”

 

* * *

 

There are times when the burdens on his shoulders seem like they will crush him under their weight. The devastation of losing his friends and family, the blood on his hands, signing his life away to a never-ending quest to reclaim what is rightfully his, and now—this.

By a stroke of misfortune, the courthouse is closed. A conventional divorce is not going to solve their recent turn of events, but Kurapika is unwilling to sit still and accept what comes their way. His stomach churns at the thought that he has to bear Kuroro’s company a while longer.

It is Kuroro’s turn to drag him somewhere now, and while neither of them are in any position to make demands, Kurapika ends up being seated in front of him at a table in a small, clandestine restaurant. It's a hole in the wall establishment and there are only a few occupied tables during this time of day. He's secretly grateful that he doesn't have to deal with large crowds or the overwhelming extravagance of the greater city. 

“What is it, that you have to say?” Kurapika’s irritation hasn’t simmered any, and the distance between them, given the expanse of the table, does very little to abate the look that he gives Kuroro.

“We are both in need of an exorcist,” Kuroro says, proposing this as casually as he may over the choice of dining establishment for their next meal. Rather than looking at him, he’s perusing through the menu and Kurapika can only inwardly laugh at how ridiculous this situation is. While he should order something to eat to quell the nausea, he's lost his appetite at the same time.

“Apparently so.” Kurapika hates to admit it, but until he is able to trace his steps back to what exactly occurred the previous night, this is the most promising solution. He moves his right hand to cover the ring on his other hand. “The ring is the only plausible explanation for why my Nen has been sealed, but I have not ruled out the possibility that you are the perpetrator behind this.”

“You can believe what you would like to, but it’s not as if I can remove my ring either.” Kuroro twists at the band adorning his own finger without success. “I have a lead on an exorcist, and I’m willing to share everything that I know.”

Kuroro pauses to assess his reaction, but Kurapika has schooled his features into something more neutral. “If you are willing to accompany me in finding them.”

“There are no advantages to me coming with you.” In actuality, there are, but Kurapika refuses to admit it. If it comes down to it, he could attempt to force the information from Kuroro and pursue the exorcist on his own.

Kuroro seems to have another proposal, as he leans forward and elegantly folds his hands on the table. “I’ve heard that you’ve been making a name for yourself, pursuing the eyes of your clan.” He knows exactly what he needs to say to Kurapika to strike home. “I will assist you in retrieving that last pair you’re seeking, as long as you’re willing to come with me." 

Kurapika is supposed to the one accustomed to stating demands and conditions, not Kuroro. But Kuroro knows how to wield his weakness to his advantage, while Kurapika only has gaps in his strength.

He lets the words sit between them. It comes as no surprise that Kuroro would know the location, considering that the dissemination of the Scarlet Eyes in the black market is a result of his doing. He should be more than willing in this situation, but some fragile, vulnerable part of him—he can’t shake off the feeling that something’s _missing_ inside him—hopes that he would not have to give too much in return.

“I don’t understand why you would desire my company.”

“I have much more free time on my hands nowadays,” Kuroro answers easily, and Kurapika finds it offensive that he thinks of his present state as something akin to having a vacation. “Consider this to be an extended honeymoon of sorts.”

A horrified look crosses his face, and Kuroro lets out a soft laugh.

“I was only kidding about the last part,” he adds, and Kurapika swears that he’s heard the lie. “I require company to retrieve the exorcist and as capable as you are without your Nen, I’m confident that you wouldn’t mind assistance for your own mission.”

Before he can answer, a waitress attends to their table.

She leans down a little too close for comfort, bracing her arms against the surface of their table to bring her face—chest, perhaps—closer to Kuroro.

“What can I get you today?” she asks, ignoring the fact that Kurapika’s sitting right across from him. 

Can her flirting be anymore obvious? Kurapika rolls his eyes, focusing on drinking his water instead. He doesn’t even pay attention to what their conversation is about, but notices that Kuroro says something that makes her giggle as she makes heart eyes at him.

A polite smile is plastered on Kuroro’s face, and he looks unfairly healthy for someone who is supposed to be as miserable and hungover as he is. There’s a ruthless murderer under that guise of a charming gentleman, and Kurapika can’t allow himself to admire that, or anything else about him. Kurapika doesn’t catch what he says next, and the waitress glances between the wedding bands on their fingers.

“I’m so sorry!” She immediately straightens up and turns to Kurapika with a flustered expression. Her face reddens as she realizes just how long he’s been kept waiting. “What can I get for your beautiful wife?”

Kurapika is certain that his water has gone down the wrong pipe, as breathlessness constricts his airways, his lungs contracting and expanding in effort to hack up the water he drank. His fingers grips the glass so hard that it’s on the verge of shattering.

“I—” Kurapika chokes out, and he thinks that he might live after all. He coughs and wipes his mouth, gathering water on the back of his hand.

“The same as what I’m having,” Kuroro answers brightly. He slides Kurapika a few napkins so that he can compose himself. 

“Absolutely,” she blurts out and hurries off with their order.

“ _Wife,_ ” Kuroro repeats out of earshot, unfathomably amused.

Kurapika drops his face into his hands and sighs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glam Gasland is the setting of that Hisoka backstory oneshot in the manga by Sui Ishida. I like to think of it as the Vegas counterpart in the Hunter x Hunter world, just like how Yorknew exists.
> 
> Memories are returning for Kurapika, little by little. The fake/pretend relationship trope should kick off within the next few chapters and I would also like to have the last chapter be in Kuroro's perspective so we can see his side of things.
> 
> As I said previously, this is supposed to be casual and informal since I'm actually typing these chapters on my phone during my breaks at work. I'm not expecting anything close to perfection since I'm not really spending time editing and refining like I usually try do. This is all in good fun!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a comment!
> 
> You can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kimberlyenne) or [Tumblr](http://seiyuna.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

 

 _The air is stifling hot when Kurapika steps out of the airship. The climate is warmer in this part of the country, but he didn't expect it to be this warm. He’s wearing too many layers, sweating through his suit as he weaves through a crowd of people in the airport. Some clearly look like tourists with an incredible amount of luggage, while others look like they're only here for a weekend business trip._ _Without any excess luggage, he carries only a backpack with enough clothing to last a week here. It doesn’t take long for him to search the bustling crowd for any sign of Leorio—because there he is, impossible to miss with his stature._

_Leorio gives a hearty wave. “You made it!”_

_Before Kurapika can respond, he’s being pulled into a bone-crushing hug. His words are muffled against Leorio’s chest. “Too tight—”_

_“Sorry,” Leorio says sheepishly. He’s impossibly cheerful, but that can be appreciated when Kurapika spends most of his time in solitude, typically with minimal to no contact with any of his companions. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that Kurapika feels like one of those travelers in their periphery, finding their family waiting for them with welcome signs. “Was your employer okay with this?”_

_“I have paid time off for a reason,” Kurapika assures. He trusts Linssen to manage in his absence, though he was more than skeptical when he announced that he would be taking a vacation of sorts._

_“Thanks for taking the time out to meet. I know you’re incredibly busy, and well, I’ve always wanted to go on a trip with one of my friends,” Leorio says, trailing off into a mumble._

_Kurapika wears a small smile that Leorio knows he is the source of. “Please don’t get all sentimental on me.”_

_It makes his heart soften a little, when he lost his friends twice. Once, a massacre that left a mark in his heart for an entire lifetime. The other, of his own accord. When he has distanced himself from his friends for so long, despite that there are wounds that even Nen cannot heal, it comes as a relief that there are people still here for him._

_“I can’t help it, you know? It made my year to see you again, maybe even just as much as the acceptance letter,” Leorio says with a laugh. He leads the way out of the sliding glass doors, into the heat of the afternoon sun. “The hotel's not too far away. Are you sure you didn’t want to share a room together?”_

_“It’s fine. I booked a room in the same hotel anyway.” It’s fortunately within walking distance from the airport, and Kurapika deliberately chooses not to disclose any of his plans for the duration of his trip here. “What’s the plan for tonight?”_

_Leorio beams at him. “We’re going all out!”_

 

* * *

 

“Fuck,” is all Leorio can say.

Kurapika agrees. He’s clearly run out of luck for one lifetime, because returning from the restaurant meant unexpectedly crossing paths with Leorio in the hotel lobby. With no choice but to divulge everything, the three of them are sitting in his room now, contemplating the circumstances of the situation. If he knew ahead of time, he could have at least locked Kuroro in the closet, but unfortunately, things do not always go as planned. His anger towards Kuroro feels out of place and beyond his reach, replaced by an uneasy sense of shame in his heart.

“It’s not your fault,” Kurapika assures him, refusing to accept any protest. While he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, the other two are facing him in their chairs. “I just want to understand what happened last night from your perspective.”

“I don’t remember seeing him,” Leorio says, casting a wary glance in Kuroro’s direction. “We spent a few hours drinking at the bar, and then you suddenly got up to the dance floor.”

“You have to be _kidding_ me.” The thought of Kurapika dancing is absurd. Nothing comes up in his recollection, and even thinking about it exacerbates his headache.

“It was surprising, but I guess I was so busy talking to some girls that I let you be. I bought them some drinks after they gave me some recommendations on places to visit.”

“But I didn’t come back after that?”

Leorio shakes his head. “You didn’t return after an hour, so I went looking for you for the entire night. I don’t know what could have happened or how all of this happened after you left.”

Disappointment fills his heart. There’s still a large gap in the knowledge he seeks, and it appears that his only lead is to follow Kuroro in pursuit of the Nen exorcist.

“I’m sorry,” Leorio says again. His gaze catches the gold band on Kuroro’s finger, and then the matching pair on Kurapika’s own. “If I didn’t pressure you to go out with me like this, then—”

Before he can continue, a brisk knock at the door interrupts him. Kurapika isn’t expecting any more guests, but he rises before either of them can.

“I told you not to worry about it,” Kurapika says with a frown. “I’ll get the door.”

From what he can see through the peephole, a hotel staff member is waiting from him behind the door, a small box in his hands. He didn’t order anything either to expect delivery. Turning the handle, he pushes the door open.

“Good afternoon,” he says, inclining his head towards Kurapika. “This is addressed to the newlyweds in this room.”

“Newly—” Kurapika receives the package, faintly disbelieving. “I’m sorry, but may I know who sent this?”

“The return address says the Glam Institute of Art. It appears to be an invitation of sorts.” He reviews the documents on his clipboard for confirmation. “I do have the correct room number, but please feel free to contact the front desk if you have any questions.”

Kurapika returns to the room with the matte black box in his hands, regarding Kuroro carefully. “Do you have anything to do with this?”

“Not at all,” comes Kuroro’s response, nonchalant as ever. “What’s inside?”

Under the lid, a white card sits upon a satin cushion, wrapped in a thin ribbon. The words are intricately painted in gold script, addressing a certain married couple for the Glam Institute Gala. The date and location of the event are carefully detailed, but the fact that such an invitation has landed in his possession feels far too convenient for his liking. 

“The Gala’s one of those events only the powerful and wealthy can attend,” Leorio explains, looking over his shoulder. “It’s a benefit for the museum’s cultural artifact exhibition and without the invitation, admission is pretty much impossible.”

“Yes.” Kurapika doubts that the wealth contributed towards fundraising truly goes to the causes they are meant to benefit. When the Scarlet Eyes are surely part of the current collection, he would be a fool not to seize this opportunity. “If I must be honest, I was planning to infiltrate the event anyway. So for that, I should be the one to apologize to you, Leorio.”

“I understand,” Leorio says with a weak smile, and Kurapika feels apologetic for choosing his oath over his friends. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t know how and why someone would know that I need an invitation. It’s very peculiar, but there's no doubt that this is connected to the incident last night.”

Leorio takes the card from his hands and scrutinizes from front to back. “This looks dangerous. If you're going, then I'm coming with you.”

“No,” Kurapika says fiercely. “I would rather not involve you any further.”

“But—”

“The invitation is addressed to a married couple,” Kuroro reminds with a smile, not even wavering under the glare that Kurapika sends his way. He relaxes in his chair, fingers clasped together in his lap, the gold of the ring beckoning their attention.

Kurapika meets Kuroro's dark eyes as steadily as he can, hopes his eyes are not scarlet, and turns his attention back to Leorio. “We are more than competent even without our Nen and—as impossible as it sounds, we’ve called for a temporary truce for now.” The words feel foreign on his tongue, because it's too strange to use a pronoun to refer to Kuroro and himself as a collective. “I'm sorry to cut our reunion short, but I'll make it up to you next time.”

The lines of Leorio’s shoulders visibly tense, but ease with Kurapika’s next words.

“I promise.”

Leorio closes his eyes in defeat. “I'm just a phone call away if you need me. It would be nice if you could keep me informed about what happens this week.”

“I will.” Kurapika’s gaze softens for a moment, but it's quickly buried when he's reminded of Kuroro's presence. “We will have to coordinate how to proceed with this. Given the timeframe until the event, finding the exorcist within the next few days will be unlikely.”

“Then we'll retrieve the eyes first,” Kuroro says, easily deferring to Kurapika's side of the agreement. “It's inevitable, but we're going to have to act as a couple for appearance’s sake. With the formality and protocol necessary for the event, you’re going to need a disguise.”

  

* * *

  

Only once has Kurapika worn women’s clothing in his lifetime.

It’s not that he’s particularly against it. During the Yorknew incident, it was necessary to blend in with his surroundings to take advantage of the situation. But it’s one thing to disguise himself in an effort to capture Kuroro, and another thing entirely to pretend to be his lover.

The moment they step into the boutique, Kurapika knows that he needs to leave as soon as possible. An endless collection of dresses are displayed on gilded racks, with price tags extending beyond what his salary can accommodate. Flashbacks to the times he had to accompany Neon on her shopping trips come to mind. Before he can flee, a young consultant by the name of Vera welcomes them with a bright smile.

Kurapika’s fate is sealed when Kuroro returns a smile of his own. “My partner needs a gown for the Gala.”

 _Partner_.

He can’t even begin to deny how wrong that sounds.

“The Gala!” She clasps her hands together in admiration. The look in her eyes reminds him of how people treat him differently when they find out he’s actually a licensed Hunter. “I’d be happy to help you today. Are you looking for anything in particular? Do you have a style in mind?”

Fashion is not an area in which he considers himself well-versed. “I’m not—”

Kuroro finds it necessary to answer for him. “How about something that shows off the legs a little?”

Needless to say, Kurapika is scandalized. He shoots a glare to his side, but Kuroro welcomes it with a knowing smile. It’s very suspicious, how Kuroro wants to enjoy himself.

Vera scrutinizes all aspects of his body and furiously agrees. “You have a lot we can work with. Someone with as stunning of a figure as yours should expose some skin.” He wants to protest, but she’s already turning around and leading the way. “Let me show you our newest collection!”

At a loss for words, he follows Vera to a display of gowns that appear less like wedding dresses and more like evening gowns. She provides elaborate details of their craftsmanship with more enthusiasm than what is necessary. To his side, Kuroro plays his part and nods along, examining the garments with a critical eye.

She removes a deep blue gown from the display and runs her hands over the length of the skirt, recommending it for his body type. “This one has a slender silhouette. What do you think?”

“I like this one the most,” Kuroro answers, pleased.

“You’re not the one who’ll be wearing it,” Vera says with a laugh. “Do you want to try this one on?”

Kurapika wants the first dress he tries on to be his last. He tries not to sound too bitter when he answers, “Fine.”

While Kuroro remains in the waiting area, Vera brings out the gown in a smaller size as well as a pair of heels to match. She ushers him into the dressing room and provides privacy when he requests it.

Kurapika locks the door behind him. There’s an expansive mirror in front of him, bright overhead lighting that flatters his features, and actual furniture that is comfortable enough to sit in. It’s as if the only time he can actually be by himself is when he’s getting dressed. He slowly divests himself of his clothing, sliding off his dress shirt and folding it along with jeans, placing them on the banquette.

But—what is he even doing? He’s standing in the women’s dressing room in only his undergarments, on some kind of shopping excursion accompanying someone like Kuroro. It's unthinkable.

The gown is a cascade of blue next to the mirror, a reminder of everything he hopes to accomplish. Kurapika removes it from the hook and carefully pulls it on, finding that it exposes much more skin than expected. Not only does it flaunt an open back, but it also captures attention with a slit extending all the way to his thigh. He frowns at his reflection. His lack of chest might not be too noticeable here, but still. Depleting his wallet while appealing to Kuroro’s questionable tastes is _not_ on his agenda.

He wants to finish trying it on, but the back zipper is being difficult and it would be problematic if he accidentally tore the dress. Behind a fall of hair, he peers at what could possibly be the issue. After looking at his back from various angles, he sees the slightest bit of fabric caught between the zipper, most likely a result of his impatience. He’s not willing to call for Vera’s help, and the subsequent ten minutes are spent trying to get the zipper to budge.

Kurapika’s ready to give up, when the door unexpectedly swings open.

Startled, he bites his tongue on a succession of curses. Kuroro— _Kuroro_ , of all people—is intruding into the confined space of the room, closing the door behind him and sliding the lock into place. Before Kurapika can do anything, though, the hem of the dress catches on his feet and he throws his hands forward to steady himself against the mirror.

Vera calls out to him, and he can hardly hear her over the sound of his heartbeat. “Are you alright in there?”

Kurapika grits his teeth. “I’m fine.”

The rapid beat of his heart, high in his throat, says that he’s anything but. He wills himself to calm down, because this is complete madness when Kuroro is standing behind him and staring in the reflection of the mirror.

“Let me know if you need anything!”

He doesn’t dare make a sound and listens for movement beyond the door. When her footsteps withdraw from their vicinity, a long, heavy breath escapes his lungs. This serves to quell his panic, but confusion quickly rises in its place. “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

“You were taking too long,” Kuroro replies curiously, “so I thought you needed help.”

“Right.” Even without the need for Nen abilities, he’s certain that he has lost several years of his life. “Are you sure you aren’t some kind of deviant?”

Kuroro blinks at him. “Of course not.”

That is difficult to believe, when most people do not trespass in women’s dressing rooms, let alone pick locks on the doors. He casts a wary look at Kuroro, unsure of what to expect next. They regard each other in the mirror, and then Kuroro takes a step forward, closing the last of the distance between them.

“What are you—”

“Stay still.”

A shiver traces its way along Kurapika’s spine when Kuroro’s fingers ghost over the bare skin of his shoulders. Kuroro’s hand slowly runs down his back, the cool metal of a ring sliding across his skin, coming to a rest just above the zipper. Kurapika bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to show the vulnerability on his face, when it means surrendering the composure that keeps him balanced on his feet.

There’s a sharp hiss as Kuroro glides the zipper up his back, and the material effortlessly embraces the contours of his body, melding against his skin. The dress has a vibrant sheen in the lighting, as if sapphires have manifested into the richest textiles, but the sensation of wearing it is unexpectedly organic.

“There.” Kuroro stares for a moment, dark eyes full of something that he can’t quite identify, lingering at the reveal of skin from the slit of the dress and the fabric tailored across his hips. “I would say that you look beautiful, but that would be inadequate.”

Kurapika makes a strangled sound. It is insufferable, how Kuroro can invoke a reaction from him without any effort at all. “Hands off, or I’m going to impale you with those shoes.”

The pair of heels cushioned on the banquette could make for an effective weapon, and it would be easy enough to leave Kuroro bleeding on the floor. Being suspected for murder sounds far more appealing than being caught for public indecency.

“That would be unfortunate.” Kuroro steps back with an amused smile. “Alright, I’ll wait for you outside. You should get a second opinion from that girl.”

Somehow, Kuroro is able to evade the attention of the other staff members as he leaves. Relief eases into the lines of his shoulders, but it doesn't last very long. Vera ends up returning to knock at his door, eager to look at his ensemble.

A moment of fumbling, trying on the heels, and Kurapika finally emerges with everything she coordinated for him. Whereas the dress lacks embellishment, the shoes make up for it. They’re far too impractical to be worn for any occasion and if it comes down to it, he’d have to run barefoot to escape potential pursuers.

“I think you look _gorgeous_ in this color,” she says, parading Kurapika around as if he’s a work of artwork to be displayed. “Your husband seems to agree.”

Kuroro is resting on a leather armchair in the waiting area, smiling like he’s seeing Kurapika dressed like this for the first time. It’s a handsome expression on a handsome face, but Kurapika isn’t sure why it’s being directed at him.

“Will you be taking it then?”

“It’s rather costly,” Kurapika admits.

As if on cue, Kuroro holds out a sleek, black credit card between his fingers. “Why don’t I spoil you?”

It is potentially the most desirable piece of plastic in the world, save for the Hunter license. When the only cardholders he’s seen are a privileged few—businessmen and mafia dons with reputations befitting of such exclusivity, he can’t be sure that it truly belongs to Kuroro.

“You are so _lucky_ ,” Vera says in awe, in a tone too loud to be a whisper, “to have someone like him.”

Kurapika feels vaguely offended. But Kuroro readily insists and because Kurapika doesn’t have to touch his own wallet, he grudgingly allows Kuroro to pay for the entire outfit. He could care less about the whole ordeal.

Vera expresses the profoundest privilege to have been able to help them today, giving Kurapika her utmost attention if she hadn’t already when he goes to retrieve his old clothes. After nearly an hour, they leave the boutique with two shopping bags and her business card. For some odd reason, Kuroro insists on carrying everything for him.

“We're not done yet,” Kuroro says, much to his dismay.

Kurapika's headache has yet to ease, because they also visit a menswear shop for Kuroro, a hair studio to find a wig suitable for Kurapika, as well as various other stores for their disguises. By the end of the day, with too many shopping bags in hand, Kurapika can’t recall if they were all paid for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidental sugar daddy Kuroro strikes again. The dress was inspired by [this kurokura fanart](https://twitter.com/__umooo__/status/841936198117556226), which references a pose from the movie Mr. & Mrs. Smith. It's pretty amusing to see Kuroro as Brad Pitt and Kurapika as Angelina Jolie.
> 
> I went dress shopping last year, and the dressing room was large enough to be a bedroom. Even the saleswoman asked if my friend and I wanted to share the dressing room together, which was really weird.
> 
> Please leave a comment—I'd love to know what you think of this chapter. You can also reach out to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kimberlyenne) or [Tumblr](http://seiyuna.tumblr.com/).


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